


Nightly, Beside the Green, Green Grass

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: As a kid, Clarke always wanted one of those friends who climbed into her window whenever they wanted to. And when she meets Bellamy, she gets one.





	

Bellamy started climbing into Clarke's window when they were eleven and realized it was an option. Having a best friend who climbed into her window whenever they felt like it had been a goal of Clarke's, something she'd read about in books and seen on TV that she aspired to, and they'd spent a whole day making sure he could do it and figuring out a system for him to get in even if she wasn't home. It wasn't even that difficult; she'd just never had a friend who wanted to figure it out before. Never had a friend who she wanted climbing in her window whenever they felt like.

But Bellamy doesn't always want to be home, and she doesn't think he really believes she always wants him around, not until they figure out the window thing. Once they do that, he comes over whenever he feels like, knowing he can bypass her too-large house and small talk with her parents, knowing it can just be the two of them.

"He comes in your _window_?" Harper demands, when they're thirteen.

"Why wouldn't he?" Clarke replies. It's just--normal. He's been doing it for years. 

"What does he do?" Fox asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You guys are _alone_ ," she says. "In your _room_."

"Big deal," Clarke says, rolling her eyes even though she knows it is, for some people. Bellamy is--well, he's a _boy_. And Clarke's always had boys for friends, but Bellamy is turning into a boy other girls _like_. Clarke gets why; he's got nice hair and a nice smile, and he doesn't wear his glasses to school anymore. And he's kind of--he's cooler, in school. He's smart and gets good grades, but he's quiet about it.

Clarke kind of likes it. No one knows he's a giant loser nerd except her. Everyone else can think he's hot.

"He's my best friend," she tells them. "We do homework and play video games. It's not a big deal."

"But he could come in any time," says Harper. "He could come in _at night_."

"Yeah," says Clarke. "But he doesn't."

The first time he does, they're fifteen, and she has a moment of sheer terror at the sound of someone coming in, waking her up, until he says, "It's me."

She switches on her light, winces at the sudden brightness. It's late November, but he's in his pajamas, and he must have walked or biked. He must be freezing. 

"What's wrong?"

"I had a fight with my mom."

Even though they've never done this before, she moves over automatically, making room for him. There's a second of hesitation on his part, but she gives him an exasperated look and he deflates, toeing off his shoes and lying down next to her.

"She just came home?" Clarke asks. It's late, but Bellamy always stays up until their mother gets back, in case his sister needs something.

"Yeah. She got fired."

"Shit."

"We probably have to move."

She rolls into him, wrapping him up tight. His arm comes around her shoulders, his face nuzzling against her hair. They do hug sometimes, but this is a lot, even for them.

But--he has to _move_.

"Not out of town," he says, like he's reading her mind. "Just--in with my grandmother. It's actually a little closer to you."

"But you hate your grandmother."

"I don't _hate_ her," he grumbles. "But she's really--strict. My mom isn't perfect, but no one could ever say she's too hard on us."

"That's true." She squeezes him. "It was a bad one, huh?"

He sighs. "I know she's doing her best. I know she loves us. But that doesn't mean--"

It doesn't mean that he hasn't given up on things every day of his life to watch Octavia. It doesn't mean he always has enough to eat, or warm enough clothes. It doesn't mean that he's had a good life, and Clarke does her best to help, but there's only so much she can do. He feels guilty, coming to dinner too often, especially because Clarke always makes him bring Octavia. He takes her hand-me-down clothes for his sister and doesn't point out that she hasn't really outgrown them.

Clarke sometimes feels like she worries more about Bellamy and Octavia than their mother does, and she knows their mother is trying to keep the lights on and the rent paid, but that doesn't mean she can't be upset too.

"Yeah," she says. "You're staying here tonight."

"Do your parents own any guns?"

"They're not going to shoot you."

"That's not a _no, my parents don't own any guns_ ," he points out.

"You didn't even bring a coat."

"Six words. _My parents down own any guns_."

"I'm like ninety percent sure."

He huffs and tugs her closer. "I guess if your mom shoots me, I don't have to move in with my grandmother."

"Yeah," she agrees. "That's the spirit."

They move in with his grandmother only a few months later, and Bellamy has a room with a window now too, a big one Clarke can climb in herself. He grumbles that he has no idea why she _wants_ to come over to his grandmother's house, because it's really not that fucking great, and Clarke ignores him. He still comes to her more than she comes to him, but she likes having the option.

She figures out she's bi when she's sixteen, starts dating Lexa when she's seventeen, and when they break up, she climbs through his window and into his bed without a word, and he holds her and tells her he's sorry.

She fell in love with him somewhere in there, but she doesn't notice until she's eighteen, and she realizes they might go to different colleges.

"We don't have to go to the same college," he says.

"Of course we don't--" she starts, and he rolls his eyes at her. 

"I meant, I'm going to State. I can afford it and it's close enough I'll be around if O needs me. There are plenty of expensive schools for rich kids close enough you can still climb in my window whenever you want." His confidence falters, and he looks away. "If you want, I mean."

She actually feels a little embarrassed, that's how wide her smile is. "If I want," she agrees, and wishes she could forget how much she wants to kiss him.

She gets three of her admission letters all on the same Friday in April, and she goes over to his house without thinking. It's late, because she had practice and then dinner with some of her teammates, and the lights are all out in Bellamy's grandmother's house. His mom is at work, Octavia is probably out with friends, and his grandmother goes to sleep early, so she's not really surprised. It's always better, when no one else is around. Especially with good news. This feels private, somehow.

She scrambles up the tree and onto the branch by his room. It's warm, so the window is already open, and she's disappointed when she sees his light is out too. She didn't think he had plans tonight, but--

He's there, she sees. He's there, on his bed, _naked_ , one hand wrapped around his dick, skin glowing in the moonlight, like he came straight out of one of her fantasies. She's not sure she's ever seen anything better.

For a second, she thinks she's died, just because she can't breathe or move. The sight of Bellamy jerking off could actually be fatal. She wouldn't be surprised. No one should look that good.

His thumb swipes over the head of his dick and he groans, hips pushing into his own hand, and Clarke feels all the breath leave her at once. Which at least means she's still alive. But that also means she has to do--something. In a way, it's miraculous that this has never happened before, that neither of them has ever caught the other in a compromising position before. It's not like Clarke doesn't get herself off. He could have caught her plenty of times.

But he didn't, and now she's here, halfway through his window, while he's jerking off. And, god, he's _jerking off_ , his dick big and hard in his hand, moving faster now, making all these choked noises she wants to record for posterity. 

If she said anything, he'd definitely stop. Which--okay, it's not like he wants to jerk off in front of her, but she's also had the experience of being _so fucking close_ when her phone rings or her parents come home, and she doubts it would be any more fun for him to have her make a noise so he knows she's here before he can finish.

She should leave, that's really what she should do. Go and come back in ten minutes, when he's done. But--god, she'd feel so fucking dishonest. If he'd walked in on her like this and left without telling her, she'd be _pissed_.

Ideally, of course, she'd just slide into bed next to him and help him finish, and heat rushes between her legs just at the thought. Not that she wasn't already wet and aching just from seeing him, but--fuck, she wants to be there next to him, pressed in close, watching him and telling him how hot he is.

He comes with a choked gasp while she's still trying to figure out what the hell to do, and she watches his chest rise and fall for a second as he comes down before she says, "Um. Hi."

If she didn't feel so bad about the whole thing, it would probably be kind of funny, the way he freezes, instantly, all the tension that drained out of him after the orgasm coming back, and then some. There's a second where he doesn't do anything but look profoundly like he wants to die, and then he opens his eyes and looks at her. Even in the dark, she can see the horror there.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he says, gaining control of his body all at once, scrambling out of bed and pulling his sheets with him, wrapping one around his waist like armor. "Clarke, what the fuck--when did you--"

"A few minutes ago," she says. It's probably too dark for him to see her blush. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know--I had no idea what to do."

"Leave?" he suggests.

"Really? You'd want me to just _leave_?"

"What the fuck else would I want?" he snaps.

"So, if you walked in on me, you'd leave?"

"It's polite!"

"Would you _tell me_?"

"Would you want me to?"

"Of course I would!" She realizes his grandmother might be home and lowers her voice. "You can't just _not tell someone that_. You haven't done that, have you?"

He scrubs his hand over his face. "Jesus. No. I just--" He huffs. "How the fuck is this suddenly my fault? I didn't fucking do anything."

"Sorry," she says. "I--seriously, I didn't know what to do."

"Yeah." There's a pause, and she wonders if he's actually counting to ten. He's embarrassed; she knows he is. She would be too. But she doesn't know how to make that better. "You, uh--I didn't know you were coming tonight," he finally says. "Is everything okay?"

Her jaw actually drops. "That's it?"

"What's it?"

"We're just moving on?"

"Sorry, what did you want to do? Critique me on my technique?"

"No, I just--I'm really sorry, okay? I don't know how to make it up to you."

"It's not really something you make up. It's fine, Clarke. It happened. It's awkward. I know you didn't mean to. Unless you want to get naked for me, there's not a lot you can do."

His brain seems to catch up with what he said a second after he said it, but his expression looks more like he didn't mean to say it than like he didn't _mean it_.

And, honestly, she's so fucking wound up. She doesn't know how to just let this go.

"Good idea," she says, and tugs off her shirt.

"Clarke--" he starts. His eyes are fixed on her, and her resolve wavers until she sees his gaze drop down to her breasts, just for a second, before it snaps back up. "You, uh--" He lets out a breath, and then his eyes lock with hers. "It's not like you just saw me naked."

She pops the button on her jeans and steps out of them. It's enough to bring her closer to him, but not quite into his personal space. She can smell him, sweat and spunk and Bellamy, and her heart is hammering out of her chest.

"Yeah, you're right," she says. "You'd need to see me getting off."

She reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, and that's when Bellamy loses it, surging forward and capturing her mouth with his, the kiss hot and hard and all too quick, and she has to laugh.

"You can definitely do better than that," she tells him, wraps her arms around his neck and makes it gentle this time, slow and easy. She can feel the tension draining out of him again, the way he relaxes as she keeps kissing him, as she holds on and doesn't let go.

He's the one to unhook her bra, and she actually _giggles_. It's not her fault she's giddy; Bellamy is kissing her.

"What?" he asks, trying for grumpy and not really getting there.

"That was pretty romantic for a minute."

"It can be romantic with your bra off." He pulls back to look at her. "It's romantic?"

"So romantic."

He kisses her jaw, her neck. "I'm serious, Clarke," he says, and her heart stutters.

It feels important, but she's lost. It's hard to concentrate when they're both mostly naked and she's so turned on she can barely think. "Okay," she says. "I'm not sure what you're serious about."

"You," he says, careful, and the laughter is back, bubbling out of her.

_Romance_.

"Bellamy," she says, all fondness. "I am incredibly serious about you. But that was honestly the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life, and I need to get off, like, now, so--"

"Hottest thing you've ever seen?" he asks, tugging her back toward his bed.

"It's not even close."

"Good." 

She's been in his bed before, with him even, the two of them stretched out, reading or playing video games, but Bellamy's lost the sheet and she kicked off her underwear, and they can't stop touching each other. His hand finds her breast as they kiss again, open-mouthed and desperate. It's like nothing they've ever done before, but somehow familiar too, because she knows almost every inch of Bellamy, has seen him kissing people before, knows how he is with her, knows how he is like _this_.

They're still best friends, it's just getting _better_.

"Fuck, I don't even know where to start," Bellamy murmurs, swiping his thumb over her nipple. Clarke already had tons of inappropriate thoughts about his hands; she didn't think they could be as good as she thought they were, but they really are.

"I owe you, right?"

"What?"

"I saw you jerking off, so--"

He groans, pushes his face into her neck. "Fuck. I shouldn't be so into that."

"Why not? I want you to be into that."

"I could be touching you. And I really want to do that too, but--"

"So do it after," she says, settling in against his chest. Part of her feels like she should be embarrassed, but Bellamy slide his arm around her and presses his lips against her hair, and there's no room in her for anything like shame. He wants to watch her touch herself; it's so fucking hot.

"You staying?" he asks. "I still don't know why you came."

"I haven't come yet."

He groans and kisses her hair. "I have no idea why I like you."

"I got into all my colleges," she says. "So we don't have to break up at graduation. I came to tell you."

"Oh," he breathes.

"So, yeah, I'm staying."

"Good." He takes her wrist and guides her hand down between her legs. "I want to see."

She slides two fingers between her legs, getting them nice and slick before she moves back up to rub her clit. Bellamy lets go of her wrist and moves his hand back to her breast, playing with her nipple again, and her hips stutter against her fingers. "Fuck," she breathes. "Were you thinking about me?"

"What?"

"When you were jerking off. Were you thinking about me?"

She can feel him swallow under her. "Yeah," he admits. 

"What were you thinking?"

"You on top of me," he says. "Riding me." His mouth slides down, teeth grazing against her neck. "That was what I was thinking about when I came. Before that I was thinking about eating you out. I like some variety."

"Oh," she breathes, speeding up her fingers, rubbing harder. "Fuck. I think about that too. All of that."

"Yeah? What else?"

"I was going to say everything, but I never actually imagined this."

"Which part?"

"You watching me touch myself."

His laugh is so warm, and she bites her lip, overwhelmed with how good she feels. She's already getting close, orgasm building, and it usually takes a lot longer, but--usually Bellamy isn't groping her and telling her his dirty fantasies about them.

"It's a lot harder than I thought it would be," he says, and when she snorts he bites her shoulder. "That's not what I meant. It's hot, don't get me wrong, but--I really want to be touching you."

She reaches for his hand without a word, getting it back between her legs, and it only takes a few strokes of his fingers on her clit before she's coming, burying her face against his neck so she won't be too loud.

"Already?" he teases.

"Sorry you're so hot."

He pulls her on top of him, sliding his hands up her bare back, and she sinks into him for another long kiss. "I'm not," he says, smiling.

"Yeah, me neither." She settles with his thigh between her legs, rubbing up against him a little, making him laugh.

"Already?" he asks. "Fuck, girls have good recovery time."

"We do." She grins. "You weren't planning to stop, were you?"

"Never," he says, and then they're kissing again, and Clarke's not sure she's ever been so happy in her life.

Both their windows get a lot of use through the end of senior year and that summer, but, unfortunately, when she makes it to college, it turns out her dorm-room window is basically impossible to climb into.

"And you have a roommate," Bellamy points out. "I don't think your roommate wants me breaking in all the time. I can just use the door."

"Yeah, but still."

He laughs, props his his chin on her shoulder. "I had to stop climbing in your window eventually. I like doors."

"But we have so many good memories with the window."

"We do," he agrees. "I bet we can make some new ones with the door, though."

She leans back into his arms, closing her eyes. "It won't be the same."

"I'm hoping it'll be better."

And Clarke has to say, even with how good they've been so far, it seems like a more than realistic goal.


End file.
